The Cupboard
by Playing Hooky
Summary: Harry's life at #4 Privet Drive. The place where he lived for almost ten years, before he was rescued. In cannon he was negleted, but what if it had been worse? Would he still grow up to be the same person?


DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, J.K.R. does. Also, there are a few lines that were taken directly form the first book.

WARNINGS: Will include spoilers for all seven books. Child abuse, violence, swearing. Rating may go up if I ever decide to continue this.

**If**** after reading that, you're still interested, then go ahead!**

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The beginning of it

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Albus Dumbledore watched as Hagrid left on the borrowed motorbike and Minerva's animagus form slowly disappeared into the darkness. He brushed away a tear with the sleeve of his robe.

He knew that Minerva was right and, quite honestly, he agreed with her. Those muggles weren't appropriate for taking care of a child. Especially not _this _child. The very same child who had called them 'grannie' and 'grampa' a few months ago. Albus smiled, remembering... James had been calling them 'mum' and 'dad', ever since. Minerva would look so happy every time that happened.

His smile fell when he realized that it wouldn't happen again. James was gone, as was Lily. And now Harry would have to live with those horrible muggles. Albus wished he could take him in. Oh, how he wished! But no, the minister had protested that Minerva and he were 'much too old and busy'. He considered kidnapping Harry, but that would bring too many problems. More than even he could handle.

James and Lily had named Sirius as the godfather. Remus, Severus, Alice, Peter, Minerva and Albus were the secondary guardians. One of them was supposed to take care of Harry if anything were to happen to the parents _and _godfather. Unfortunately, the ministry could always deem someone unfit for it, unless they were blood relatives to the child. That left the Dursleys as the only option.

There was little he could do about it. Those idiots at the ministry would get guardianship otherwise. And Merlin only knew what consequences _that _would bring. With so many Death Eaters and bigoted fools, you could never be too careful. Sirius was locked in Azkaban. Remus was a werewolf. Severus (despite his loyalty to the light) was still considered a Death Eater in the eyes of the Minister. Alice was tortured to insanity. Peter was dead.

It had been very dark times, and he didn't really feel up to celebrations, considering all those that didn't get to see this day. But he had to. Many people still looked up at him for guidance, he was considered their leader. And, while he didn't believe that Voldemort was truly gone, a morale boost was needed.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four. "Good luck, Harry," he whispered. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley…

He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter - the boy who lived!"

Almost four years had passed since that night. The baby was now a five-year-old boy, and he was very excited at the moment. He stood in front of the door, which led to a classroom. It was his first day of school. This was his chance to prove himself. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would be proud of him. They would finally realize that he wasn't a waste of space, and he could be a good boy, like Dudley.

Gently, he pushed the door open. There were many kids inside, laughing and playing. It was too loud, and he had to suppress a flinch. He sat down at a desk, near the front, by the door, waiting for the teacher to arrive. His cousin was glaring at him, from the other side of the room, but he didn't care. Not even Dudley could damper his mood that day. Everything would be perfect.

After a few minutes, Miss Patty arrived. She had kind eyes and a nice smile. The little boy liked her, so he smiled back.

She took a paper from her desk and asked the children to say 'here' when their name was called. That made him nervous. He knew that 'freak' was not really his name. Or at least that's what he hoped. How was he supposed to know his name, though? Aunt Petunia once said that his name was nasty and common. But he wasn't really sure what a nasty, common name would sound like.

Miss Patty continued calling out several names, then she paused. She repeated a name several times, but no one said 'here'.

"Harry Potter," she said again, slowly. "Harry, are you going to answer me?"

She was looking directly at the boy with funny clothes and black hair. He looked up at that. Being the smart kid that he was, it was really obvious why she kept staring at him.

_Harry Potter. My name is Harry Potter. Freak? I don't know him. I'm Potter, Harry Potter. You can call me Harry, though. But not Freak! I'm Harry._

"Here?" he tentatively said. The teacher looked annoyed. She probably thought he had done that on purpose.

The other kids started to snicker at him, and whisper among themselves.

Little Harry's enthusiasm disappeared after that. His perfect day made a turn for the worse.

He had a bad day. And a bad week. And a bad month.

No one wanted to be friends with him. No one. He was isolated from his classmates. They would mock him all the time. He was rejected for being different, for being weird. His ragged clothes were too big for his small frame. His messy hair was always greasy, because he wasn't allowed to wash it at home. He had translucent, milky white skin. His eyes were a fluorescent lime, like a green viper's scales; poisonous, kind of. And his face was too perfect. His nose wasn't too big. His lips were full and nicely shaped.

And he was hated for it.

Dudley and his new friends would start playing a game. Harry Hunting. The other kids would watch as he was knocked down. And laugh at him. And tease him 'cause his parents were dead. The little boy would just cry silently.

All the teachers at school thought he was a problem boy. They were told many lies about him, so they now looked at him with disgust. Harry never told anyone that Dudley was the bully and not him. He was still hopeful that someone would become his friend.

It didn't happen.

His home life was not better. Uncle Vernon became more aggressive. Aunt Petunia became more demanding. He was now required to make breakfast, as well as his other chores. He had to stand on a stool because he was too small, but she didn't care. Aunt Petunia didn't teach him how to do it, either, so he ruined breakfast several times. He learned through trial and error. He was punished for every mistake.

But there was a bright spot, however tiny it might have been. Aunt Petunia promised she would get him a present that Christmas. But he had to be a good boy, or he would get nothing, like the year before. He made all his chores without complaint. He did Dudley's homework and didn't say a thing to the teachers. He took Uncle Vernon's punishments in silence. He stayed in his cupboard the rest of the time, thinking about the present he would get, not making a sound.

By November, he could finally make breakfast. Aunt Petunia gave him a book with many recipes, so that he could make lunch and dinner, too. And he enjoyed reading it, even though some words were too difficult for him to understand yet. Perhaps his happiness showed, because Uncle Vernon started telling him horrible things about his parents. He told Harry that they were drunks. That they didn't have a job. That the car crash was their fault and an innocent person died because of them. Harry honestly wished they could go back to pretending he never had parents. It would be less painful.

December came. Vacations started. Harry was nearly bouncing up and down that night. December 24th. In a few minutes it would be Christmas. A delicious smell came from the kitchen. Aunt Petunia cooked herself because she didn't want Harry to ruin it. She announced that dinner was ready, and frowned when Harry made to sit at the table. Furious, she dragged him by the scruff of the neck to his cupboard. She opened the door and shoved him in.

"Here's your present!" she exclaimed, throwing something inside, before closing and locking the door.

With that, she left, her high heels taping as she walked back to the kitchen. Harry was left in his cupboard while they ate their magnificent dinner.

Once he was sure she wouldn't come back, Harry concentrated on making things brighter. A small flame appeared midair, and many spiders crawled away from the light. Harry made it a bit dimmer; he didn't want to scare the spiders. They were the closest thing he had to a friend. Sometimes, when he was sad, he would talk to the spiders, and tell them all about his life. They stayed still, as if listening. But they never talked back.

Harry looked around, excitement flooding him again. His present! Were was it? He was sure his aunt had given him something -

Ah. There it was. Harry's eyes widened, not believing his aunt would give him this. Slowly, he reached out and took his present. His prize for being a good boy, his reward for his hard work, the compensation for his silent suffering... The tiny bright spot that had kept him hoping.

The flame became progressively smaller as he sank into the mattress, with his gift pressed against his chest. His iridescent green eyes staring at nothing as the darkness grew. He didn't cry. He didn't talk. He just stayed still, gripping his present tightly.

It was a coat hanger.

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AN: I know that in the book it says he received the coat hanger more or less a year before going to Hogwarts, for his birthday. But here I changed that, I like it better this way. Oh god, this is so depressing. I have to go and read a good parody RIGHT NOW.


End file.
